


What About You Give Me Your Clavicle?

by griftersviola (leechdealer69)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Elias is there but also he isn't., Eye Trauma, I'm so tempted to use the "Food as a Metaphor for Love" tag because of the cannibalism., M/M, Mild Cannibalism, These... sure are tags., Unreliable Narrator, canon-typical weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leechdealer69/pseuds/griftersviola
Summary: In the tunnels, Jon dreams.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	What About You Give Me Your Clavicle?

Jon knows he's dreaming.

See the direction the path goes on, the way it curves into a spiral until the infinitely small angle disappears into nothing. (Does it disappear? Jon sees it.) The stones here are old, born yesterday (time has no meaning) with years of history carved into their surface. Jon has intimate knowledge of the dried blood encrusted in the cracks on the floor and the walls. There is no one else here. There should be, the wandering, whimpering things that once were people, but this isn't about them. It never is.

Elias is waiting for him. Elias is always waiting for him.

"Jon," he says.

Jon never answers with words; he places his hand just over Elias's heart. There is a pause in which live a thousand latent deaths. He thinks he understands something, at that moment, but then his blood flutters within him and it washes away the unborn thought. There is no sound other than their breathing.

It's very natural, the way Jon's fingernail finds the corner of Elias's eye, slides with ease and precision into the socket, gently taking the eyeball into his fingers. If Elias says anything, Jon doesn't hear it. Jon is blinded and aware, so aware of the drum of his heartbeat as he slips the eye into his own socket. It fits like it belongs there.

Elias looks at him, unseeing and all-seeing, empty sockets taking him in. Jon doesn't wonder what he looks like right now. He looks like a thief, blood streaming down his cheeks, housing an identity that doesn't belong to him. It's all wrong. He cups Elias's face in his hands.

"Everything you are is mine," he whispers. "Your entireness, your completeness is mine."

He presses a kiss to Elias's forehead, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, he's in the tunnels, Martin's sleeping form curled up next to him.

* * *

Martin wouldn't understand, he's sure. He asks his questions about dreams and sleep, and Jon doesn't want to lie to him, not really, except he's not sure what the truth really is.

* * *

Jon kneels next to Elias's fallen figure. There's blood on his hands.

Elias's eyes never close as he tears him open, pushing aside bone and organs. In the cold winter air—snowflakes settling over bloodstained ground like deafening silence—his heart is steaming when he finds it, lifts it in the air to see it properly. He doesn't for a second break eye contact as he brings it to his lips and bites into the flesh.

* * *

They're not simply dreams, products of his unconscious mind. He doesn't remember the last time he had one of those. At night, before sleep, he stares at the ceiling, thinking. Does Elias know? Does he feel in his own flesh what Jon does to him?

He hopes so.

* * *

The eyes he opens are not his.

This dream is startlingly ordinary, almost artificial in how mundane it is. Hands that are not his own sit on a keyboard, spreadsheets and schedules carefully arranged on the screen. The sun is shining outside.

He doesn't think Elias can perceive him as being there, not really. He wishes he did, wishes he could shake him by the shoulders, wishes the window next to him (them?) showed the blood-curdling reality of the world. He'd grab him by the arm (would he manage to startle him? He doesn't think so, but he can dream), drag him over to show him the view. "Look what you've done," he'd hiss at him, and Elias...

Well. He'd be satisfied, wouldn't he? He doesn't feel regret like other people— like _humans_ do. And all of a sudden, the thought of Elias admiring his broken kingdom revolts him so much that he reaches for the mouse and closes all of the tabs without saving. He wonders what Elias would say to that, and almost doesn't realise that the hand that grasps the mouse doesn't belong to him.

Why hasn't this dream ended? He feels uncomfortably comfortable, here, like he was made to nest in here. He festers and proliferates, his consciousness expanding to fill that of Elias (is it Elias? He still feels hollow, like if he brought a candle close to his eyes he'd see the dry hands that hold up the facade).

He wakes up hungry.

* * *

Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with Elias at all. The Beholding’s idea of a gift, perhaps, or the tunnels’ influence.

In his dreams, he chases down Elias, breaks him and consumes him and loves him. He doesn’t know which part scares him most.

**Author's Note:**

> *(growls)* There are parts of this that feel very off to me (though I won't tell you which ones they are so you can't find them), but I think I'm done with this fic; I got the concept out of my system and that's enough. As always, this was written for myself, but I really hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading.


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